


with shortness of breath, I'll explain the infinite

by eldritch_beau



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Essek Week, Found Family, M/M, Slow Romance, Will I ever stop writing found family for Essek? the answer is no, essek lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:54:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23378701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldritch_beau/pseuds/eldritch_beau
Summary: The graviturgist struggles with the definition of gravity.
Relationships: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast, The Mighty Nein & Essek Thelyss
Comments: 42
Kudos: 305
Collections: Essek Week





	with shortness of breath, I'll explain the infinite

**Author's Note:**

> Day 1 Prompt: Gravity/Shadows
> 
> // this was supposed to be a 500 word drabble but all I know is to yearn, be gay and lie //

* * *

_Gravity,_ he remembers his ill-tempered old tutor’s voice like it was only yesterday, _is a natural phenomenon. It's what keeps our planets in order and things to the ground. Learn your letters well, Essek and don’t ask questions._ The man had no taste for the fascination of it all, of course— interested more in the prestige that comes with tutoring Den Thelyss’ youngblood and more than anything else, the gold that comes with it. For Essek however, _fascination_ didn’t even begin to cover it. Didn’t come close to defining that feeling that came with pulling at books heavier than himself, those that made his arms shake to carry, pouring into them day after day, fingers tracing the bigger words he needed to say aloud because he was still too young and everyone would whisper that he was _so advanced_ perhaps he used to be someone great in his past life. And his mother would look the proudest she’d ever looked of him.

(Essek remembers that look well. He had always wanted to live up to it back then.)

Until he came of age and all his peers began to _remember_ and Essek... couldn’t. He had dreamt of this same greatness that somehow evaded him completely, left him out to fend for himself. His peers raced ahead, their anamnesis triggering their sprint towards knowledge already known and now simply recalling. But Essek lingered, falling behind and scrambling to catch up, the anxiety of failure gripping him whole.

The look of disappointment on his mother’s face seemed to darken like he had failed the Umavi already in ways irreparable. 

—

 _Gravity,_ Essek learns, _is fundamental to the workings of the universe. It's what keeps Exandria, Catha and Ruidis suspended just so in a perpetual dance. It’s what knits the universe in it’s delicate balance— what keeps his feet to the ground._ A playful challenge; but even young, Essek never shied away from one. 

Perhaps Verin witnessing most of the mishaps as he tried to defy gravity (and laughing every time Essek fell face-first on the floor) was a price he had to pay; but the look on Verin’s face, of amusement transforming to amazement when Essek _finally_ (finally!) managed to stay afloat for longer than five seconds is one he still cherishes. 

It’s little things like those that he holds close to where he thinks his heart would be, even if his relationship with his brother has soured enough to put then on unspeaking terms.

—

 _Gravity,_ Essek learns, _is about tethering._ Just like the moons tether themselves to the planets and the planets tether themselves to the suns and galaxies tether themselves to the larger universe that goes on unfolding in it’s extraplanar scions— Essek tethers himself to the pursuit of knowledge and vows to follow its course with an unchecked determination bordering on the extreme. Perhaps it was the sinking fear that he didn’t have anything else to care about as much as he cared about dunamancy, or perhaps it was the fear that if he didn’t care about _this_ , posterity wouldn't care about him either, much less his own mother. There are expectations to live up to. 

The luxon beacons are mysterious, _powerful_ — and Essek had questions.

Questions that kept him awake night after night and frustrated him when the clerics of the Luxon High Temple would turn him away without satisfactory answers. They call it god and Essek does not trust it. _There has to be more to this,_ he tells them, _there’s more to this than our limited knowledge and subsequent worship of it. Binding ourselves to gods we don’t fully understand is nothing but folly._

They laugh and tell him he’s so young, barely part his first century, that he’ll understand _when he’s older_ and it enrages Essek to no end. His father is gone and his brother too and his mother was never there to begin with. Even his favours seem to be running out and to be turned away from his _purpose,_ from the ability to be near the beacons in their proximity, to study them, to learn— is a difficult burden to bear and Essek does not bear it with grace. The third time he is turned away in four consecutive weeks the itching that pulls at the darkest parts of his mind dares him to write that letter to the Cerberus Assembly and give it personally to Ludinus Da’Leth during an unsuspecting inspection of the Ashguard Garrison. 

Essek submits to its temptation.

—

Perhaps that’s why he felt no remorse, only a cold resolve when Ludinus proposed the arrangement and Essek handed the beacons over to the Martinet without a single ounce of guilt. The Assembly is an independent institution of knowledge, of _learning_ (and isn’t that what he strives towards?)— they could be the peers the Dynasty deprived him of. They could be the colleagues he had wanted to share his interests and collaborate with all his life. A nagging feeling warns him that it could jump-start the war but the more rational voices insist that _war would happen anyway, whether he started it or not. Besides, why should he care for a world that never cared for him? What is it to him?_ He has nothing to lose and everything to win with this transaction. 

But the smile that the old Zemnian wizard gives him upon receiving the beacon leaves an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach; that much like the clerics he used to scorn at, Essek himself has stepped into a dance with a very dangerous entity that he does not fully understand either.

—

But as a graviturgist, Essek understands _gravity._ Understands his own purpose in the scheme of things. Understands that every risk is an opportunity because _nothing_ worth having ever came without a price, his mother made sure of that. Essek understands gravity like the back of his hand, like the levitation that comes without thinking, like the compulsive lies he tells simply because it is what he knows and he _knows_ his world revolves around the relentless pursuit of knowledge, selfish as it may be. Verin is better than him, he knows this too. His brother has a spark of goodness that Essek long rejected, his work is far more important to indulge in the goodness of things anyway.

He is a creature of the shadows, drawn to the darkness of his towers and the comfortability of his secrets. In his solitude, he is protected. _It’s a choice,_ he tells himself so many times that he almost believes it.

He watches the Mighty Nein laugh with a fascination that perhaps rivals only his academics. They have undone Essek’s goal with a stark swiftness in returning the beacon to the Queen and he wants to be angry with them but they are a puzzling bunch and the lure of a puzzle is too strong, too mesmerizing.

They are a den, that is for sure but they are not family, not by blood at least. There is chaos in the way they interact with each other, an openness to it, to the things they say and to the things they do. Something about it makes him miss Verin all of a sudden, a grievance he chooses not to indulge. He knows they are _good_ and he is _not_ and he holds himself stiffer, more aloof because he can interact with them— but never be one of them, no. His purposes are different and if he has to kill them one day (and he might still have to) to get there, he _will._ But they don’t have to know that. 

He gives them a house, to keep them close and the blue tiefling hugs him as a thank you, genuine in all of her generosity… and something of his resolve falters.

He watches their wizard the most. It’s a human who speaks so freely of wanting to learn more about the arcane that the first time in his life Essek feels the pull, the intrigue of a treacherous hope that perhaps this wizard is the only person in this whole wide world who might understand him, and it is followed by a deep need for companionship that he hasn’t felt before. _Impress me,_ he tells the human, only to be presented with a magical incantation of a cat’s paw that claws at the air playfully and it’s so unique, so simple and personalized of course, and so curious indeed.

He gives Caleb two very simple spells from his spellbook and smiles to himself on the way back to his house, wondering what curious use this curious wizard might make of them. 

—

They come and go, the Mighty Nein and it’s a passing amusement Essek takes to them, like a preoccupation that Essek assures himself will be short-lived. They ask him to take him to a dragon’s lair and Essek’s laugh at that is lined with worry because surely, _surely_ they must be mad? 

_No one_ survives that. 

(and _yet_ … they do.)

Caleb comes to him once and admits to being trained as a scourger and Essek wants to warn him that this is not the kind of information Caleb should hand over so freely; but the trust it comes with is fragile and Essek’s hands shake as he tries to hold it lightly, careful to not to break it. 

He takes them to the scourger’s cell when they come back again. He has known them for less than a month now and Essek realizes to his utter horror that he would kill for Caleb Widogast. 

And he just did.

—

When Beau and Nott line their doorway with ball-bearings to test his floating, the good-natured amusement Essek feels with it is foreign but it’s in good humour and the playfulness of it tugs at his heart and the heaviness of his mantle feels nonexistent when he laughs at their antics. It is foolish when Fjord says “these horses might know something, they’re empire horses” but Essek laughs again like he hasn’t laughed in a long time. Only to realize that the rare times he has ever been genuinely happy has only ever been when he’s around the Nein.

Jester gives him a parasol when she notices that the sunlight hurts him and it’s such an instinctive gesture of kindness that it takes Essek by complete surprise. He thanks her thrice and means it more each time— and still feels like it’s not enough.

They ask him to take them places and he tells them he’ll tally the favours, but he wonders at which point he earnestly stopped keeping count. They worry that they are annoying him and perhaps they are, but the joy he takes from simply being around them seems to be a paramount pleasure and in ways the highlight of his day, weeks even.

They tell him they’ll keep in touch but when Jester’s messages go silent, Essek is almost surprised with himself (and annoyed too) with how he _keeps expecting_ her to send him a message, too much of a coward himself to send one of his own.

 _My solitude is a choice I made,_ he insists but the conviction is weak. It’s starting to feel less and less like a choice these days.

—

They invite him to dinner and Essek contemplates long and hard outside their door, almost turning away twice. His tower is cold and empty and their house looks so full, so warm. _Would they have a place for one more?_ He wouldn’t admit that he’s missed them, no that would be giving them too much power. But he _has_ missed Jester’s messages, missed Caduceus’ nonsensical wisdom, missed Beau’s abrasive nature and more than anything (and he’ll _never_ admit this to anybody) he has missed Caleb. His cheeks redden at the thought. What is he doing? He should turn back and go home to his cold dinner and quiet tower. But the peace is _almost_ settled. And he already picked out the wine. 

He knocks before he can talk himself out of it.

— 

_Gravity,_ to Essek’s equal alarm and amusement, _is attraction._ An inescapable allure. And it’s depth is so _unfamiliar_ it scares him. He finds himself staring at Caleb as the wizard takes down the spell and against his better judgement, his mind wanders. There’s a slight cut on the left corner of Caleb’s lower lip and Essek briefly wonders what it would be like to kiss that. It’s a traitorous thought and Essek looks away immediately but then perhaps, it is a thought befitting a traitor. The reminder of it feels like the twist of a knife.

Caleb is curious and excitable and Essek’s heartbeat stutters when Caleb hands Essek’s spellbook over with a smile and a soft “...fascinating” that is alluring in it’s authenticity. His messy red hair, the light in his cornflower blue eyes, his palpable excitement towards knowledge— everything about him shines bright enough to burn and it makes Essek's heart ache with a strange kind of a longing. Essek bites down on his lip and looks away. He is a creature of the dark, of the shadows and secrets. _You should know better by now,_ he reminds himself and is not the least bit surprised when the reprimand comes in his mother’s voice.

“We are friends, no?” Caleb asks and Essek falters. He has never had anything more than a professional relationship, much less a friend. 

“Friends…” he tries the world and likes the way it sounds, the warmth it brings, “I like that.” Caleb’s smile is radiant and so easy to get lost into that it’s a good five seconds before he realizes he is staring again and looks away.

He gives Caleb a spell of his own creation, something of a promise of his own. Not that Caleb will ever know.

—

They are creating a new spell together later in his study when Nott remarks, “Caleb’s got that crazy look in his eyes” and Essek betrays himself by replying, “I can see that look” with an endearment that borders on embarrassing.

It does not do well to admit how much of his time he has unwittingly spent gazing into Caleb’s eyes like some lovesick fool in some bard’s song. 

So when Caleb calls him _amazing,_ and _brilliant_ and all those things others have called him too but Caleb’s voice carries _none_ of their artifice and all of this enthusiasm that is so uniquely Caleb, with a tenor approaching fondness… it makes Essek’s stomach swoop and his heartbeat stutters and Essek briefly wonders, like a fool, if _this_ is the feeling they write all those songs about.

—

Caleb holds his face in his hands and his thumb brushes Essek’s cheek, pulling at something wet that Essek is only just realizing are fresh tear tracks. It's a brittle thing, to have someone say they see hope in you where you have previously seen nothing but despair. 

His treason, his lies— all that he uses for a shield lies strewn about him on the wooden floor that sways and creaks and Essek feels bare, exposed… _seen._ All the things he has done, thought he’d done for all the right reasons don’t feel right anymore. Betraying your friends even before you came to call them friends (what a simple word to evoke such strong reaction from him) feels nothing short of a hurt that gnaws away at him— and to admit that in front of the very friends he has betrayed is a task that feels as daunting as climbing the Ashkeeper Peaks.

For a split-second Caleb looks at him like he’s about to do something extremely rash and Essek would react if he weren’t feeling so utterly _helplessly_ frozen in Caleb’s gentle but insistent grip, of warm palms holding his face like he isn’t completely lost, like there is a way and if he holds on just long enough, Caleb might lead him out of this, like _Caleb knows the way._ He kisses Essek right between the eyes, lips chapped and warm and perhaps a little forceful with a touch of anger and something approaching a promise. Essek almost leans into the hope it affords, wanting to cling to it with bare hands but it’s not deserved, he hasn’t _earned_ it.

Jester takes his hand and Caduceus offers him reassurances (even amidst all this) and it’s too much, _too much to handle_ and Essek recoils like their kindness burns.

They welcome him into their ragtag group of broken people and offer him a second chance. They tell him it’s not over yet and he fears that in tethering himself to them, he has perhaps damned them as well. “I cannot protect all of you and that is what worries me” he admits and even then they don’t turn him away. It’s a strange sort acceptance, to be seen at your worst, at your most vulnerable and still be lent a helping hand, a chance at redemption. He doesn’t believe there’s redemption for him and he tells them so— but Caduceus accepts his apology and Jester still hasn’t let go of his hand and Caleb says that they have hope for him and Essek _thought_ he understood gravity, thought he understood his purpose, his calling in life before, but ...it’s the Nein. They have seen the worst of him and they are still here. Essek looks around the room, at each and every one of their faces… and he physically feels the centre of his gravity shift completely and realign itself.

“I have more allegiance to you than to the Empire or the Dynasty” he says and realizes it’s the closest he can come to admit that he _loves_ them.

—

 _Gravity,_ it turns out, is all those things, but above all, it is _love._ Gravity is in the little acts of love that tether him to these people. It’s in an allegiance that binds, to be stuck in a mutual orbit of faith and friendship.

It is in the way Beau tugs at his hair to pull it into an embarrassment of a ponytail (and he lets her) because his hair has grown out and it gets in his eyes and she has a solution. It is in the way he always remembers to pick flowers for Yasha now that he has learnt why she collects them. It is in the way Caduceus makes him tea and they sit and talk sometimes about mortality and being angry at your family and never confronting them about it. It is in the way Jester and he indulge in pranks that no one would suspect and how he makes Jester float sometimes because it makes her happy, in the way Fjord talks about not having complete faith yet, but it’s the act of holding on that matters (and Essek is inclined to agree), it’s in the way Veth dotes on him when his own mother never did.

He might be a graviturgist, but Essek gravitates towards _them._ And more than most, he gravitates towards Caleb. Love in the little things, he’s come to learn. It’s in the gentleness of the fingers Caleb traces through Essek’s hair when it’s early morning and they are both reluctant to wake up. It’s in the way when Essek starts to ramble about the stars and dunamancy and the universe at large, about infinity and everything in between and Caleb listens in enraptured attention, like it’s the most important thing in the world. It’s in the books he finds that remind him of Caleb, in the scarves with a kitty prints that he found in a shop in Uthodurn three months ago and he thinks Caleb has never looked happier than upon receiving it. It’s in the way Caleb kisses him silly after every battle because their enemies are dead and _they_ are not. It’s in the way Caleb lets his head rest against Essek’s shoulder and talks of how they should open a wizarding school together when all of this is over. It’s in the way Caleb trusts Essek with the worst of him too, in the way they move with each other in the dark of the night. It’s in the way Caleb pouts and drapes his scarf around Essek’s shoulders when he notices some tavern lad eyeing Essek. It’s in the way Essek reads aloud to Caleb sometimes and marks the parts that he thinks Caleb would love. It's in the way Caleb steals a kiss from Essek when he thinks no one is looking, only to have Beau groan “get a room, you two!” from somewhere in the vicinity. 

He is a man of science and reason and Essek knows that no, gravity isn’t _love._ Not in the analytical description of it, no not in the slightest. But he _is_ a romantic at heart and to think that gravity is love is a metaphor that conveys the inevitability, the inexorability and the incredibility of gravitational attachment that exists in his family, the Nein— and in how every single one of them upholds the other in the continuous support, in the faith they lend with open hands; it is nothing less than a miracle of the universe that he stumbled upon them, that they found him when they did. 

Essek is a graviturgist, true. But the most he has ever _felt_ of gravity is not in the defiance of it as he used to when he was Shadowhand (it feels like a lifetime ago that he gave that position up) but in the submission to it, to the love they give him unconditionally, to their love that keeps him tethered, keeps him grounded. 

He tries his best to give back that love, to show it through his own little acts of kindness as well because it's a fact of the universe now that Essek _loves_ them.

He just hopes that someday, he is brave enough to say it too.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> i legit wouldn't get anything written if it weren't for the etfc server, so thanks so much yall. and jak too for organizing Essek week! time to celebrate our boy instead of bullying him rip essek. 
> 
> if any of yall wanna find me on tumblr and yell about essek i'm [@fiovske](http://fiovske.tumblr.com) :)


End file.
